Death Trap
Zia Black
Copyright
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2012 - Zahra Brown (pseudonym: 'Zia Black')
All rights reserved.
License Notes
This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold, or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and you did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it to smashwords.com and purchase your own copy.
Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Zia Black, www.ziablack.com, 2012.
Cover Image: Copyright iStockphoto.com/sharply_done (real name: Stephen Strathdee)
CONTENTS
The slender blonde glanced at her watch and huffed. She paced up and down the maintenance corridor as trains whooshed by the tunnel next door. A door slammed shut behind her, so she spun round to face the visitor, a pair of blue eyes watching from the shadows.
"Let me see you," she said.
A cloaked figure stepped out from the darkness, the hood pulled over his face. She directed him to the floor before her, but he stayed in the shadows, one hand under his cloak and the other behind his back.
"Did you receive payment?" she asked.
The man nodded.
"Good. Here, take this bonus." The woman offered a cheque, but the figure shook his head. "Do you want more? Name your price and it shall be done. A million? Ten million? Fifty million?"
"Zero," the man said softly. "I do not handle payment on the job."
"As you wish."
"This is your last chance."
"I beg your pardon?" The woman backed away and slipped her hand into her pocket, the cold trigger sticking to her clammy finger.
"This is your last chance to change your mind."
"I won't," she said, releasing the gun. "My brothers and I want this. Do it."
"Have you kept up your side of the bargain?"
She nodded. "I told them nothing about you. They think I hired some Russian hitman. As far as I know, they aren't even aware you exist."
"It will remain that way."
The woman offered her hand but the figure turned and walked towards the exit. Suddenly he faced her and asked, "Do you feel any guilt?"
"It was unbearable at first. Now I just log into my Caribbean bank account, see my current balance, and sleep damn well. Guilt as a rich woman is better than a clean conscience as a bankrupt...The question is, do you feel guilt? You're the one with blood on your...gloves."
"It would be unprofessional to do so."
The man opened his cloak, revealing an assortment of blades and guns ranging from sawn-off shotguns to silenced pistols. He grabbed the silenced pistol and aimed it at the woman's head.
"You are a brazen," she said, slowly reaching for her pocket. "I sign your cheques, remember?"
"Not anymore."
He fired.
The train slowly reversed into the station and stopped by the passengers waiting on the platform. When the carriages were empty, the driver stepped out and shook hands with his colleague before marching off down the platform. His replacement pulled his scruffy hat over his face and walked into the driver's carriage.
On the platform, a woman gathered her children. Her youngest son accidentally dropped his crayons on the floor and started to cry as they rolled away. Balancing the baby with one arm, his mother gathered the crayons with the other. A chubby young man rushed over and tapped her on the shoulder.
"Let me help," he said.
"Thank you."
The man picked up the crayons and slipped them into the boy's neon green backpack.
"What's your name?" the boy asked, a crumpled drawing in his grasp.
"I'm Craig."
"Thank you, Craig."
"No problem, little guy."
The mother rushed off with her crying baby and the boy followed behind, waving from the door to the fifth carriage.
Craig sat on the bench and rubbed his baggy blue eyes. He took the ticket from his pocket and kissed it before taking a stack of postcards from his plastic bag. He placed them on the seat beside him and gazed at the bikini-clad women on the beach in the picture.
"Beautiful," he whispered. "I can't wait!"
An Asian man appeared and towered over the bench. He removed his puffy black coat to reveal the grey vest and faded jeans underneath. A moment later, the floor trembled as three trolleys were pulled his way by three boys, chatting excitedly.
"Do you mind?" the man asked, pointing at the seat.
"No problem." Craig pushed his postcards and ticket into his pocket.
The Asian man sat his three sons down and handed them a Japanese language guide each. The tallest boy flicked through before tossing it on the floor, which made his younger brothers giggle.
"Benjamin, I'm not amused!" The father took the guide and thrust it into the boy's hands. "Show your ancestry some respect!"
"I don't wanna go," Benjamin said. "I want to stay here with Mum."
"Me too," his brother Carlson cried.
The youngest raised his hand.
"Yes, Michael?" the father said.
"Are we gonna meet your friend again?"
"Yes. You'll love him."
Craig's stomach grumbled so he strolled over to the cafe close by. He waited in line behind an Asian woman in a red hijab, her hands stroking something around her neck.
"Next," the server said, shoving the cash register back in.
"Do you serve Halal food?" the woman asked.
"I don't know. I'll check."
The server disappeared round to the kitchen.
"Sorry about this," the woman said.
"It's all right. I'm thinking of going vegan too."
He laughed and she gave a tiny smile.
The server returned and rolled her eyes. "Yep, he said the triple cheeseburger with two slices of ham and five pepperoni pieces is Halal."
"...No thank you." The Muslim woman scuttled towards the train.
"Bunny!" a little boy cried, pointing at her.
"No," she said. "Asma."
"Sorry about that," a slender blonde said, leading the toddler away. "Winnie, your bunny is home with doggy." She pinched his chubby cheeks. He giggled and ran to his sister by the train.
"Where have you been?" his sister asked, tickling his stomach. "I missed you!"
"Love you," he said, hugging her leg. He let go and his eyes swelled with tears.
"Aw, don't be silly," their father said. "Wren'll be back soon."
"Soon?" His wife dabbed her blue eyes with a handkerchief. "Six months isn't soon."
"Joanna, I'll be fine." Wren swung her brother around.
"You never know," Joanna said. "Anything could happen. Be careful."
"I said I'll be fine."
"Are you sure about this?" Joanna asked. "You can still change your mind!"
"No, she's going! I've spent good money on this trip!" Wren's father checked his watch. "Quick! If I'm late for work, Bill will kill me!"
"Oh, Dad! Grow some...You run the place too, remember?"
"John, she's right. Don't let Bill push you around, isn't Wren?"
Wren turned back and gazed at the sleek white train. It blew the horn and all the doors flew open. Her eyes drifted over the ten carriages and stopped on the sixth. The family strolled over to the carriage and Wren glanced at the large digital clock hanging above the platform, rubbing her hands with glee.
"Wren, do be careful," Joanna said. "Sit in the middle."
"I can't choose where I sit! Sixth carriage or no carriage!" Wren flashed her ticket. "I'm only near the back because someone paid my fare so late."
"Oh for goodness sake, I've apologised enough!" Wren's father playfully punched her broad shoulders. "Let it go! It's not my fault your tuition fees milked me dry."
"Whatever," Wren mumbled. She checked through her blue rucksack one last time before the final whistle blew. Tucked away in the inner pocket was the picture of a black woman with bushy hair smiling for the camera. Beside her was a tanned girl with Wren's big brown eyes. "If you reach her, tell Mum where I've gone."
"Will do," Joanna said. "Won't we, John?"
"I wasn't talking to you," Wren mumbled.
The other passengers began to file onto the train as the clock ticked closer to eight thirty. The ticket inspectors strode down the platform, their eyes scanning the crowd, and stopped at the first carriage. They stood and watched the passengers pass through the doors.
"Bye bye, Winnie!" Wren ruffled his brown curls.
"Bye bye!" Winnie squealed.
"Time to go," Joanna said. "You can't miss the train!"
Wren pulled on her rucksack and briefly hugged Joanna. Then she kissed her father goodbye and stepped onto the sixth carriage.
Pushing her way down the aisle, she finally reached her seat. Her neighbour was an obese man in a dark red t-shirt and loose pants. He moved the bulky plastic bag on her seat and patted the tattered leather. She double-checked the seat number and her ticket before sitting down.
"Where are you going?" he asked.
"Europe."
"Duh! We're crossing the Channel." He smacked his thigh as he cackled. "After France, where next?"
"The world," she said. "Across Europe, Asia, Australasia, North and South America, and last, but not least, Africa. You?"
"Whoa...Just Paris and then Majorca." He pulled out postcards from his pocket and carefully spread them across the table. "My future fiancée posted these. I've waited for five years, but she finally sent for me."
"Five years, eh? I hope she's worth it!" Wren looked over the glossy postcard of the Eiffel tower. "What took her so long?"
"It's complicated." He gathered the postcards according to size, smallest to largest.
"She's married."
"...No."
"I'm not judging you, I'm just saying." Wren handed him the last postcard of a golden Majorcan beach. "Dad cheated on my mum years ago. I get it, though. They weren't in love anymore. Still, wait until everything's over, you know?"
"There are no children involved," he said. "Just an angry ex."
"They're the worst." Wren removed her coat and loosened her sky blue shirt collar. "Don't worry. It won't last."
"Was your mum the angry ex?"
"Yeah, but she's over it."
"That's nice to hear." Craig slipped the postcards into a plastic sleeve.
The train whistled and the last passengers rushed on before the doors slammed shut. Officials quickly ushered them to their seats and then headed for the first class carriages ahead.
"I'm glad she doesn't have kids," Craig said. "They always hate the step-parents!"
"It took two years for Joanna and me to get along. I hated her. She hated me."
"What changed?"
"Despite our hate, we have one thing in common."
"You both love your father."
"...Okay, despite our hate, we have two things in common." Wren looked outside at her step-mother, who was sobbing into a tissue. "Neither of us back down. I respect her for that."
"So who caved first?"
Wren waved at her father and brother as the train pulled away. "I didn't."
"Craig, did you eat my last choc?"
"Oh, I get it." Craig pulled in his stomach and straightened up. "So because I'm the only fat person here, I must've eaten your food? Well, Wren, quite frankly I'm appalled at your blatant bias. Apologise!"
"Yes or no?" Wren crossed her arms.
"Maybe." Craig gave her some coins. "Buy another one."
Wren thrust the money back into his hand and pulled her headphones over her ears. She bopped her head to rap music as the train sped towards the British coast. Soon the herds in the country fields and rainy weather were left behind as the train powered into the tunnel under the sea. The view was black but for the tunnel lights zooming past.
"I should be practising my French and Spanish," Craig said. He pulled out a language dictionary and struggled to pronounce the French greetings.
"Can you keep it down, please?"
Wren and Craig turned to a grey-haired smartly dressed woman sitting to their left. She looked them up and down before pulling out a flashy touchpad from her snake-skin handbag. She flicked through business websites and stopped on stock market charts, the trends going down. When she realised Wren and Craig were watching, she shifted in her seat so the screen faced the window.
"Bitch," Wren said aloud.
The woman huffed and pulled the handbag from the empty seat onto her lap.
"I don't know what her problem is," a quiet voice said.
Wren and Craig turned back to the woman seated behind them. The woman blushed and tucked her brown fringe under her head veil.
"I'm Wren." Wren offered her hand and the woman shook it. "He's Craig."
"My name is Asma."
"Oh, it's you again!" Craig shook her hand.
"You're right about that old fart," Wren said. "If she's so damn important, why isn't she in first class?"
Craig sniggered.
"Where are you off to, Asma?" Wren asked.
"I'm going travelling to find a..."
"Me too!" Craig cried. "I'll be sunning in Spain with my wife-"
"Fiancée," Wren said.
"Fiancée before our wedding. Screw rainy old England. Hello sunny Spain!"
Faster and faster the train ploughed down the tracks as the carriages began to tremble. Wren felt herself being pulled into her seat. Craig's postcards fell out the sleeve and scattered on the floor. Their cups tipped over, sending hot coffee onto their laps.
"Don't panic, Craig," Craig said. "Remain calm."
"What the hell?" Wren cried. She looked over the chairs ahead but the hostesses were nowhere in sight.
"Be quiet," the grey-haired woman snapped. "Let the people do their job!"
"I wasn't talking to you!"
Craig pointed outside and Wren followed his gaze. The tunnel lights flickered and sparks flew from the tracks as the train sped faster. The G-force pulled them deeper into their seats and luggage compartments flew open, letting bags, cases, and a folded pushchair fall out. The lights overhead went out and people screamed as darkness swallowed them whole.
Dim yellow emergency lighting switched on. Children were crying. The table and chairs were soaked from the food and drinks thrown over. Craig was sobbing into his postcards. Asma had clasped her hands in prayer. The fussy woman poured a shot of vodka, spilling most of it on her suit.
"We're gonna die!" Craig gasped. "Oh God! Poor Eliza. How will she cope without me?"
"Just fine," the grey-haired woman hissed.
Wren opened her mouth to speak but the screeching tyres on the tracks ground to a halt as the breaks clamped down. Everyone was thrown forwards and Wren's head hit the table, knocking her out cold.
"Stop! Where's he going?" Craig shouted.
"Good Heavens! What on earth is going on?" the grey-haired woman said. "His superiors will hear of this inexcusable behaviour!"
Wren opened her eyes and rubbed her aching forehead. Asma was standing over her, wrapping ice cubes in a napkin. She handed them to Wren, who placed the ice pack on her head.
"You scared us," Asma said.
"What happened? Did we crash?"
"No...Just stopped."
"Stopped? That's it?" Wren peered over the chairs and saw the other passengers looking out the window. "What's the commotion for, then?"
"The front carriage is leaving for France without us."
Craig rushed over and sat opposite Wren. He dabbed his sweaty brow and then downed a glass of water. He rocked back and forth, breathing heavily.
"We're stuck down here," he said. "It just detached and went off."
"Chill out, Craig." Wren patted him on the shoulder. "Maybe the driver went for help."
"Without telling anyone?" Craig held his postcards close to his chest. "I'll miss our anniversary...At least I got my gift."
"The postcards?" Asma asked.
"No. My train ticket."
"I didn't pay for mine either," Wren said. "Dad did. God, if he'd bought it weeks ago when I told him to, I wouldn't be here..."
"I'm just as cheap." Asma patted the ticket in her trouser pocket. "A friend bought mine as a going away present."
"Ooh, a friend, is it?" Craig grinned.
"Craig, it's none of your business!" Wren snapped.
"It's okay. I had some pre-marital problems," Asma said. "My family chose a great guy for me, and we got along nicely, but there was no spark. We're good friends, nothing more."
"So you're going to find your true love." Craig fist pumped the air. "It worked out for me, anyway!"
"He's out there somewhere. I'll take him back home to meet my family when I'm ready."
"That's if we get out of here," Craig said. "How can a driver abandon a train like that? Doesn't he know the captain always goes down with his...Never mind!"
"As I just said, he must've gone for help." Wren looked out the window. "At least the lights are back on."
"For now," Asma said.
"Will you three please be quiet?" the grey-haired woman snapped. "I have business to attend to! Then again, you unemployed benefit scroungers would not understand."
The woman typed away on her touchpad before cursing when the screen went black. She quickly plugged the touchpad in and sighed happily when the screen lit up. After shooting a mean look at the trio, she returned to work, her bony fingers robotically prodding the keys.
"Still a bitch," Wren muttered.
The tunnel lights went out. Everyone was silent, all eyes on the darkness outside. A moment passed before Craig spoke.
"They're not coming back on, are they?"
Asma shook her head.
"It doesn't matter," Wren said. "You afraid of the dark or something?"
"No!" Craig clutched his postcards so hard they bent. "I just prefer the light, that's all..."
There was a piercing scream from the farthest carriages and the whole train was plunged into darkness. Passengers rushed around, gathering their belongings.
"We're out of here," a man cried, pulling his three sons towards the door. "The driver's obviously not coming back!"
"You can't go out there," Wren said. "The tracks are live! Are you trying to kill your kids?"
"Of course not!" The man wiped his youngest son's teary eyes. "What do you suggest? We stay here and wait for the bloody driver to come back? The moron abandoned us! When I get my hands round his neck I'll-"
There were several loud bangs and another piercing scream. Everyone dropped to the floor or dived under the table. Wren kept her head low and listened to the sound of wheels moving down the tracks. She slowly peered out the window and spotted the lights go out in the first passenger carriage before it rolled away.
She got down beside the others and the father crawled over. He motioned for Wren to come closer and then whispered in her ear. "What's happening?" he asked.
"The first carriage. They're leaving us too!"
"You're joking. The carriage moved without the locomotive?"
Wren shrugged.
"The locomotive powers the train," he said. "The driver controls everything from the other end."
"So the driver's carriage is still here?"
"Yes," he said. "Two carriages down."
"Why didn't you say this before?"
"I just came from the carriage in front. They didn't want to leave either, but I couldn’t risk the children's safety." He thumped the floor. "Damn it! They were right. We could’ve been shot!"
"Maybe it wasn't gunshots," Wren said. "It could've been something popping."
"Like what?"
She shrugged again.
"It was a gunshot. Didn't you hear that scream?"
"A terrorist, maybe?" she asked. "We could be hostages. No wonder they took the locomotive."
"So the gunshots could've been a bluff? They're trying to scare us so no one does anything stupid!"
"I don't know about that." She rubbed her sore forehead. "This all feels very real."
"So the carriage definitely went down the tracks?"
Wren nodded.
"Without the locomotive?"
"The lights went out and the carriage slowly rolled down the tracks. It went round the bend and I couldn't see it anymore."
The man nodded slowly.
"What're you thinking?" she asked.
"Your terrorist theory might be right," he said. "If so, we need to find the mole amongst us. We'll get information from him and then use the driver's phone to call for help."
"What about the driver?"
"Go speak with him, but be careful! He might not be who he seems..."
"By the way, I'm Wren."
"Jasper."
"Good luck, Jasper."
"Remember, Wren. Be careful."
Jasper cautiously checked outside before he rushed over to his children. He gave the people in the next carriage the thumbs up and turned back to their carriage. Crouched down with the boys, he tapped his wedding band on the table to get everyone's attention.
"Hello, my name is Jasper and I'll be taking charge. If there are any objections, please speak now."
Silence.
"At the back is Wren. She is next in line if anything happens to me."
Wren gave the nod.
"What is going on?" the grey-haired woman asked. "I have an important meeting at midday. My company cannot afford another stock market meltdown in my absence."
"I understand but-"
"No! You do not understand!" The woman turned her nose up at him. "We spent six months in negotiations, kissed ass from the administrative assistants to the CEOs, and showered them with expensive gifts even I cannot afford. You do not understand!"
"What's your name?" Jasper asked.
"Patricia Evans. Why?"
"Pat, as you-"
"Patricia!"
"Miss, as you-"
"Missus!"
"Missus Patricia, as you can see, your business meeting is the least of our worries. The train's engine has gone, so we're stranded down here. Someone on this train has a gun. Now the first carriage has gone after the engine, so either the carriage is possessed or some super strong bastard pulled the train down the tracks."
"Impossible!" Patricia gasped. "Who?"
"We're going to find out," Jasper said. "First, we'll speak to the driver."
"I thought he'd gone?" Patricia glared at Craig. "Someone said he'd driven off."
"I saw him!" Craig shouted. "At least, I thought I saw someone..."
"Calm down," Asma said. "Don't let her faze you."
Craig gathered his soggy, bent postcards and shoved them into his pocket. He turned away from the others and nibbled on his sandwiches, mumbling with crumbs spraying from his mouth.
"I believe him," Wren said. "He hasn't lied so far."
"You've only known him for twenty minutes!" Patricia slammed her touchpad onto the floor. "Friends now? Ha! You didn’t even want to sit with the pig."
Wren lunged for Patricia but Asma held her back.
"We don't have time for this!" Jasper said. "Wren, find the driver. If anything happens, come straight back. Don't use the intercom, all right?"
Craig turned to Jasper. "But it's quicker than coming back."
"Someone out there has a gun," Jasper said. "It could be anyone on this train. Until we know who to trust, we must remain on guard."
Wren nudged Asma and Craig. Staying low, they opened the door and went into the next carriage, where only three people remained. An old man hunched over his table waved the trio over, so they crouched beside him.
"Get away from the window!" Wren said. "Didn't you hear the gunshot?"
"Bleeding Nora! A gun, you say?" The old man shook his head. "I thought I'd just been hearing and seeing things."
"You saw the shooter?"
"He passed through here," the man said. "I asked him to bring me some water, and he did. I saw the gun under his coat."
"Why didn't you say something?" Craig asked. "We could've been killed!"
"I haven't taken my pills, so I thought I was seeing things...Maybe the knuckleduster and shotgun were real too?"
Asma refilled the empty cup and the man took his pills.
"Some people might be injured," she said. "If you see anything else, do let us know."
The trio passed into the next carriage, which was empty but for a rouge briefcase and folded cloak next to the driver's door. Wren knocked and said, "Driver? Can we come in?"
No answer.
"Is everything all right in there?"
Asma pressed her ear against the door and then shook her head.
Wren opened the door and the trio crept in as the train's system shut down, taking the control panel with it. They stood in the vast shadow stretching around them, listening to each other breathing.
The door slammed shut.
Craig grabbed the handle and tugged hard, but the door would not open. He banged the door until Wren and Asma pulled him away.
"I can't breathe," Craig gasped. "It's too dark! God, please get me a torch or something!"
"Calm down, man," Wren said. "Asma, look for a torch."
Craig sat by the door and rested his head in his hands while the girls rushed around him. Wren pressed every button she could make out in the darkness, but the train was dead. Asma rummaged through the small compartments by the driver's seat before stopping by a skinny closet. She turned the door handle and looked inside.
"Nothing here," she said. "Just the driver's spare clothes and shoes."
"You take over the buttons." Wren and Asma swapped places. "I'll find his ID or something. When we get the power working, we'll go see the hostesses. They can tell us more about the driver."
"Why?" Asma asked.
"Jasper and I think this isn't just power failure or some loser going crazy. It could be terrorists. We might be hostages. That's why the locomotive left. Craig never saw the real driver. Now terrorists have taken the engine and left us powerless."
"What if they planted bombs?" Asma's hands were trembling. "We need to get out of here fast!"
"Or maybe someone didn't pay the electricity bill," Craig said. "Money's tight these days..."
Wren closed the closet door but something knocked against it. She opened the door a crack and spotted an ID card poking from the trouser pocket. She reached for it but her fingers knocked the card onto the floor. When she bent down to pick it up, she locked eyes with wide eyeballs covered in blood red vessels.
"Oh my God!" She fell backwards and scrambled away from the closet. Asma and Craig moved closer, their eyes pinned to the closet. A bruised arm fell from inside and landed with a thud on the floor.
"The driver," Craig gasped. "What happened to him?"
"Look at his face," Asma said, pointing at his puffy eyes.
Wren followed her friend's finger as it moved from his bruised face to the chest with a bone poking from within, and the legs bent so far back they were touching his buttocks. The man's bloodshot eyes stared into death, dried blood showing its trail from his mouth to his shirt.
"You know what?" Craig said. "I didn't see the driver after all. It was someone else."
Asma covered her mouth and heaved.
"We've got to tell Jasper." Wren took Asma's hand and pulled her friend back into the eighth carriage.
Wren closed the door and turned back to the others, who were gathered by the window again. She climbed onto her chair and watched the second carriage slowly rolling down the tracks. Jasper broke through the passengers and sat down with Wren, away from the others.
"What did the driver say?" Jasper asked. "Did he radio in?"
"He's dead."
"Jesus Christ! They shot him?"
"No," she said. "He was beaten badly. The killer packed him into the closet, so we didn't find him right away."
"Rigor mortis?"
"I didn't check."
"Second one's gone," Carlson squealed. "Lights out! It's gone!"
"Did you turn the lights back on?" his father asked Wren.
"No. We were halfway back when they came on. We couldn't try the controls earlier because there wasn't power."
"We need to go back and try again. Any other passengers besides those three?"
"The next carriage was empty except for a briefcase and coat."
"Must've been the driver's," he said. "We'll take it with us when we leave."
Jasper stood on the table and called for everyone's attention. The passengers sat in their seats while the children huddled on the floor, Jasper's sons close to their father's feet.
"The driver is incapacitated," Jasper said.
"What does that mean?" Patricia asked, tapping her foot. "Come on, spit it out!"
"Not with children present."
The children whispered amongst themselves.
"Wren, I need you to find the passenger list. Everyone must be accounted for."
"Why?" Patricia asked. "For goodness sake, what's happening?"
"Find the list and bring it back as soon as possible. After everyone has been checked off, we'll see who belongs and who doesn't."
Wren asked, "Did anyone see the ticket inspectors since we left?"
People shook their heads.
"I'll ask in the other carriages. Who's coming with me?"
"I will," Asma said. "Craig, stay here in case it gets dark again."
"Scared of the dark?" Patricia laughed. "At your age?"
"At my age? What about you, grandma?"
Jasper stomped his foot.
"We don't have time for this!" he said. "Wren, get going. Craig, entertain the kids while I talk to their parents in private."
Craig gathered the children around his table and brought out a pack of playing cards. He waved at Wren and Asma before doing some card tricks for the children.
"You ready?" Wren whispered.
Asma nodded.
Wren and Asma stepped into the next carriage and the door slammed shut. The passengers screamed and ducked before realising where the noise had come from. Wren raised her hands and mouthed, "Sorry" as people rose from their hiding places.
"What's going on?" a woman asked, cradling her baby.
"We don't know," Wren said, "but we're going to find out."
"We heard gunshots," a man cried. "Is someone dead?"
"As I said, we don’t know right now. If you help us, we'll share everything we find out."
"What do you need?" the mother asked, passing the baby to a girl sitting opposite.
"Has anyone seen the ticket inspectors?"
The passengers whispered amongst themselves.
"Hello? Anyone?"
"I heard the inspector went crazy," a teenage boy said. "He lost his job today and shot someone!"
The mother nodded. "It's wrong to spread such rumours, but I heard that story too."
"Thank you," Wren said. She marched on with Asma close behind. "If you hear anything besides gossip, let us know!"
Wren opened the door for Asma, who froze.
"What's up?"
"Someone's out there on the tracks," Asma said. "He was watching."
The skinny hostess in bright yellow uniform frowned and pushed the trolley down the aisle towards Wren and Asma, blocking their path. Wren tried to pass but the hostess side-stepped and held out her hand.
"Do you have a first class pass?" the woman asked. "I thought not. Please return to your car."
"Oh, get lost!" Wren snapped, barging past. "Ladies and gentlemen, can I have your attention, please?"
The men and women's eyes briefly lifted from their laptops and touchpads. They furiously typed away while one businesswoman turned to look, her eyes on the trolley.
"Has anyone seen the ticket inspectors?"
"He was with the driver," the hostess said, refilling a cup of coffee. "Most fare dodgers stay at the other end of the train, not here. He starts from there and works his way down."
"So you know him well?" Asma asked.
"He started working here two years ago. He's so good they've got him training the newcomer!"
"A trainee?" Asma looked around. "Where is he?"
"He gave her the day off. She's been working so hard lately, she deserves it!"
"What about the driver?" Wren asked. "What can you tell us about him?"
"Wait, who are you guys anyway?" The hostess tapped her name card. "Let me see yours!"
"You suspect us?" Wren snorted. "We're trying to figure out what the hell's going on round here! Meanwhile, you're kissing their asses!"
Several of the business people laughed.
"You don't understand," the hostess whispered. "Quentin told me to stay here. We've got to please our highest paying customers first! They paid a hundred times what you did."
"What about the gunshots?"
"So it was a gunshot?" the businesswoman gasped. Some of the others turned to look, worried looks on their faces.
The hostess quickly said, "Look, I told you it was not a gunshot. The ticket inspector is celebrating his two year anniversary today, so he brought in some extra large bottles of bubbly. I will pass round the corks as proof in due course."
The hostess grabbed the girls by their wrists and yanked them back into the fifth carriage.
"I will not let you scare our customers," she spat. "Return to your carriage now or you will never use our services again, understand?"
The hostess slammed the door in their faces.
Wren and Asma were heading back to their carriage when the teenage boy pointed outside. The others rushed to the windows and watched the flickering lights in the third carriage. Inside the passengers were dashing about except for one man, who stayed in his seat, rocking back and forth.
"Weirdo," Wren grumbled, turning away.
"There's the man who was outside!"
"Are you sure?"
Darkness returned. The girls held hands as the loud screams filled the carriage. Then there was silence. The lights turned back on.
Wren watched the third carriage slowly rolling down the tracks. Inside the man was still seated, but now his hand was stuck to the glass, a bloody handprint underneath. As the carriage slid from view, the man slumped over, revealing a cloaked figure seated beside him.
Wren tried the door handle to the fourth carriage, but it was locked. The hostess appeared on the other side and jangled a bunch of keys by the glass, a smug look on her face. She clipped them on her belt and pushed her trolley down the aisle.
"Didn't you see the body?" Wren cried. "You're next!"
Asma nudged her and pointed at the windows in carriage four, the blinds all down.
"Damn it!" Wren banged on the glass. "We can't just leave them there!"
"We must find the passenger list," Asma said. "I think I know where to look..."
Asma reached for the briefcase but Wren slapped her hand away.
"Ow! That hurt!"
"It could be a bomb," Wren said. "You can't just open it!"
"So what do you suggest?"
"I don't know, all right? I just don't wanna be blown to pieces!"
"We've got no choice."
Asma slipped her fingers around the handle and gently lifted the briefcase off the seat.
There was a click.
The girls threw themselves to the floor and covered their heads. A moment later, Wren peeked out and saw the open locks on the briefcase. She sighed and tapped Asma on the shoulder.
"It's all right," Wren said. "The locks popped open."
Asma rolled onto her back and took a few deep breaths.
Wren pulled the briefcase down to the floor and opened it. Inside were pens, a phone, a clipboard with lists on it, and documents stapled together. She took out the clipboard and scanned the list of names.
"Asma Miah," she said. "Not bad, not bad."
"What's yours?" Asma asked, still catching her breath.
"Wren Ives."
"Nice."
"What's Craig's?"
"...Nothing special. It's Brown."
Wren carried the briefcase under her arm and looked over the list as they briskly walked back to their carriage. Suddenly Asma stopped and Wren bumped into her, dropping the case. The papers fell to the floor in a heap.
"Asma, what the hell?"
"He was there again."
Wren looked out the windows on both sides, but she could not see anyone there.
"Are you sure?"
"Yes! Of course I am!"
"Calm down," Wren said. "He can't stay hidden for long. If he's not on the list, he's busted!"
"What if he's an inspector, driver, or waiter?" Asma asked. "Being an employee is the perfect excuse for not being on the register."
"There's only one way to find out."
Wren and Asma helped the old man and others from the seventh carriage into theirs. They sat them down and all turned to Jasper, who was standing by the door. He turned to the first page of the register with a red pen in hand.
"When I call out your name, show me your passport and move into carriage seven. Do not go into the driver's car...We can't risk damaging the controls!"
Jasper read out the first name.
"Derek Jackson?"
A teenage boy raised his hand and showed his passport.
"Andrea Lawson?"
A young woman nodded and moved along.
"Benjamin, Carlson, and Michael Mariko?"
Jasper patted each boy on the head as they filed into the next carriage. He called out his own name, "Jasper Mariko" and crossed it off.
One by one, each person moved into the seventh carriage. Soon Jasper was the only one left. Wren returned and looked over the list.
"You stay here and direct everyone to their seats," Jasper said. "I'll send passengers over from the fifth carriage."
"Be careful."
Jasper gave a bright smile and strode into the fifth carriage.
"Wren?"
Wren squeezed through carriage six and met with Jasper in the fifth carriage. He showed her the list, every name crossed off.
"Everyone is accounted for thus far," he said. "One more carriage to go."
"What if the bad guy is on the list?" she asked.
"Then we'll check over everyone's ID cards, driving licences, and every other document they've got." Jasper patted the briefcase. "Maybe there's more info for us to work with in here."
Jasper gave her the briefcase.
"Tell me what you find," he said. "See if there are any clues. Maybe the driver wrote something important down. Maybe the train company mentioned someone they were keeping an eye on. At least find out if the dead man in the carriage is the real driver. You never know..."
"I'm on it!"
"Wait, Wren!" He patted her head. "You're doing good, kid. Your parents will be proud."
"I'm not a baby," she said. "But thanks. You're pretty cool too!"
"I can't wait to tell my kids I'm cool." He laughed. "Anyway, be care-"
The glass in the door smashed, sending shards raining down on Wren and Jasper. They ran and turned back in time to see the hostess standing by the doorway in the fourth carriage. Blood tears streamed down her face as she screamed and screamed. A woman pushed her aside and pulled at the door handle before another smacked her out of the way. The passengers fought over the handle, no one there long enough to turn it. The hostess reappeared with the keys, but when someone shoved her again, the keys flew through the broken glass and landed on the tracks below.
Wren willed herself to do something, but her feet were glued to the spot. Her legs were wobbly and her face was flushed. She leaned on Jasper, who held her firmly by his side.
"What's happening?" Jasper whispered. "Oh God!"
A shot was fired and two women at the door fell. The other passengers cried out, reaching out to Wren and Jasper. Another shot lit up the carriage, and a man gasped his last breath before tumbling onto the hostess beside him. Smoke billowed from the carriage, the smell of gunpowder smothering Wren's nose. When the last bodies fell, there was the sound of a key turning in the lock.
"Wren, run!"
Wren followed Jasper into the next carriage, the sound of heavy boots stomping behind them. She dared to look over her shoulder and screamed as the hooded figure reached out, his fingertips brushing over her hair. Jasper yanked her into the sixth carriage and barricaded the door with the pushchair. The shooter aimed through the glass and the shotgun clicked, so he grabbed cartridges from under his cloak and shoved them into the barrel.
Wren tumbled into the seventh carriage and burst into tears as Asma and Craig hugged her. Jasper headed straight for his sons waiting at the other end.
"We heard gunshots," Asma said. "Are you hurt?"
"Not now," Jasper snapped. "The children shouldn't hear this."
"They heard it already!" Patricia shoved her touchpad away. "We have a right to know what is going on. Speak up! Now!"
Wren looked around at the worried faces and saw the passengers cowering in carriage eight. She climbed onto the table and everyone turned to face her.
"Don't, Wren," Jasper cried. "Think of the children!"
"They're not stupid," she said. "They know something's wrong."
"What's going on, Dad?" Benjamin asked. "Is someone tryin' to kill us?"
"No, Ben."
Jasper held his sons tightly.
"Yes," Wren said. "Someone is trying to kill us."
"Oh my God!" a woman cried.
"Why?" a girl asked. "I haven't been bad."
"Who's the killer?" A muscular man tightened his fists. "We'll get him!"